


The Age of a Heart

by Lygerastia



Category: Jasper Jones - Craig Silvey
Genre: DON'T BE FOOLED, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Racism, its actually quite a happy story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lygerastia/pseuds/Lygerastia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1969, four years after Jasper's sudden departure from Corrigan. Jasper is no longer the lanky young town delinquent, but a young man. Charlie is in his final year of school, studying literature with the hopes of becoming an author like his father.</p><p>After a tragedy occurs, Jasper returns bringing with him a maelstrom of unresolved feelings and questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jasper

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so be nice. I'll try to update regularly but exams are fast approaching, so it may be quite erratic. 
> 
> Most characters do not belong to me, but the wonderful Craig Silvey.

Jasper awoke when the alarm of a car started wailing, the grimy yellow light slotting neatly across the bed sheets. The room was stuffy – the heat amplifying the saltiness of the air.  He got out of bed, careful not to jostle the sleeping body next to him. He felt the ache in his knees as he walked over to the bathroom. He probably had gone too hard on that kid, although he seemed like he enjoyed it. But they all did. They all moaned when they needed to, screamed when it was appropriate. It was all a lie, love was a lie. Jasper has always known that. He knew that when he had taken all those girls to the dam. He knew with Laura. He knew when he kissed her. He knew that it was all a farce. _Look at me now,_ he though, reminiscing on how his life had been for the past four years.

 

* * *

 

It had been hard, the first year. He hitch hiked for days, until he found himself in Melbourne. He had lived on the streets, eating what he could, sleeping where he was able. He sometimes entertained himself by playing football with some other boys. His life had taken a major turn, however, one late autumn morning. The air was crisp and brown oak leaves were crunching under his feet. All of a sudden, a woman screamed. He whipped his head around to see the lady in question – a smart looking woman dressed in a brown business suit – run after a stocky man in black carrying a bag.

 

“Please!” she cried “My husband’s medication is in there!” Jasper’s mind barely allowed himself any time to think before he was sprinting after them. _Why am I doing this?_ He asked himself and he moved his legs faster. Upon reaching the thief, he tackled him to the ground. The woman came up behind him, a litany of curses to the thief spilling forth from her mouth, the likes of which he never expected of a smart woman. She picked up her bag and delivered a swift kick to the man’s side, still swearing at him. She then turned to Jasper.  
“Thank you so much for this young man,” she said, her eyes full of sincerity. Jasper was shocked. Never had he seen a woman act like _this._ Respectful looking, married, probably had a stable income and three children. And yet here she was. Jasper was immediately intrigued.  
“No worry Miss. Got him real good, though.”  
“Oh but I must repay you. Here.” She held out a twenty dollar not.  
“Aw, nah miss I can’t take this.” She cut him off before he had the chance to continue.  
“Here take it. Buy some lollies, or something.” She smiled then turned around. And that was the last Jasper ever saw of her.

 

* * *

 

 

Well, at least that was what he thought. But he was wrong.

Winter had swept into the city, drenching everything in an icy spray. Jasper sat under the awning of a quaint café. People passed in and out of the door, every time dousing him warmth and the bitter smell of cooking coffee. Nobody paid attention to the thin teen in the threadbare pants and coat. He was idly picking at a loose thread coming out on the hem of his trousers when a smart pair of penny loafers appeared in front of him. Slowly, he lifted his head up. There, before him like some angel, was the smart swearing lady (that is what he called her, since he didn’t know her name). Her nice face was contorted into a frown.  
“What are you doing out here?” she spoke softly, like one would to a lost child.  
“Uuuh. W-well its warm here an-and someone might…” he cut himself off and shrugged.  She looked around her, and then jerked her head in the direction of the door.  
“Come in. I’ll get you a coffee and a biscuit.” Jasper – astounded - numbly stood up and followed her into the shop.

“So, I think we should start with the basics. My name is Susan Langridge. I am 37 years old and I have a husband called Edward. I work at a bank, and my husband is a lawyer.” She smiled cordially and nodded to him, indicating it was his turn.  
“Uh, I’m Jasper. I’m fourteen; I’ll be fifteen soon though. Um, I’ve been here since late summer. Yeah.” He looked around awkwardly, out of place in the café. Mrs Langridge was studying him over the rim of her coffee cup.  
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are your parents.”  
“Back where I came from. It’s a small town. My dad’s no good and my ma..."  
"Yes?" she prompted.  
"She’s dead.” Her eyes went wide with surprise and sympathy. Jasper turned his head away from her. The last thing he wanted was her sympathy.  
“Is that why you left?” she asked, her voice tentative.  
“Yeah, sorta. Some other stuff happened too, and I had to leave. Nobody wanted me there anyway. ‘Cause, y’know” He gestured to himself. She nodded, understanding, albeit a little awkwardly. They passed the time with small conversation, the warm interior of the café a stark contrast to the wet slab of grey outside the doors. They got along easily. Jasper found out that she had worked at her job for nearly nine years, and that her husband worked in social law. They also talked about how the truly abominable weather was, and the latest footy news – of which Susan (“Call me Susan,” she had insisted), was a surprisingly avid fan. He also discovered that she and her husband loved children, but were never blessed. By then, it was nearly dusk and the café was just shy of empty.  
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” Ms Langridge asked. Jasper shrugged.  
“If I find a dry spot under bridge, I’ll bunk there. But the others will probably kick me out. Even the homeless hate people like me.” The air in the coffee shop suddenly seemed colder. Mrs Langridge shifted awkwardly in her seat and set her cup on its saucer with a clatter.  
“I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but we have a spare room and maybe-well.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “If you want a warm place to sleep tonight, you are welcome to stay the night.” Jasper could hardly believe his ears. His rationality was telling him that he shouldn’t – that it was too good to be true.  
“Y-yes. Thank you. Holy sh-, I mean, Thank you Mrs Langridge.”

 

* * *

 

 

And that was how it began.

In the weeks following that afternoon Jasper, Susan and her husband Edward spent more and more time together. Within two months, Jasper was living with them. It was during the third moth when Susan and Edward called Jasper (and Wilkins the stout, elderly Jack Russell) into the dining room for a serious discussion. The topic of discussion – adoption.

 They said that he was a wonderful boy - more than wonderful. They said that he was strong and brave and smart. They said that that was what they had always wanted their child to be. They said that they would never have children of their own. They said they loved him and that they only wanted what was best for him. They said they loved him.

Jasper wiped his eyes, all the while saying that he never cried. And when he looked at the two people in front of him, he realised that these were two human beings with kindness that he had never been exposed to him before, and that they loved him enough to make him their son. Him, a malnourished half-cast from a dingy mining town in the country, a boy who abused his mind and body even just as much as his good-for-nothing shithead of a father. _Him._  
“Ok then.” His voice surprised him. It was thick with emotions. “What do we do?”  

 

* * *

 

 

They drove for 2 days. They listened to the local radio until Susan told them to “Turn that bloody stuff off.” Edward would grin at him from the front seat of the Holden and then they would groan as the notes of Mozart, Brahms or Vivaldi filled the space. They were tired and stiff by the time they reached the outskirts of Corrigan. They parked outside of Jaspers old house. The fly screen was torn and there was no doorbell, so Edward rapped sharply on the peeling rough paint of the door. From deep within the house, they heard heavy footsteps approaching. Then the door was pulled open, and there he was. David Lionel. And he was _ugly._ He wore a pair of ill-fitting jeans and a grubby white singlet, stretched tight over his distended beer gut. His hair was falling out, he was missing some teeth and his eyes were small and bloodshot. He reeked of cigarettes and beer; he was probably already wasted too. Jasper had to turn away from the sight. He was ashamed. He coughed into Mr Langridge’s face – an awful smokers cough – before speaking.  
“Who are you?!” his voice was abrasive. It scraped at Jasper. “Why are you here?  An- _Jasper?_ Is that you? Shit! Where have you fuckin _been_?” reached out, as if to grab him, but Jasper skirted out of his grasp. Mr Langridge cleared his throat, and spoke in his clearest voice.  
“Sir, maybe we should take this inside. We are not here for small talk.”

The matter was resolve in nearly four hours. Mr Jones signed the official documents and hugged Jasper, though more for show rather than actual love. Jasper didn't need to go to his room – there was nothing in it for him. He visited his grandfather to tell him the news, and to give him his new address. He also went to the glade.

It was much as he had left it, though it still showed signed of use. There was a half-full bottle of whiskey hidden in the trunk of the tree, and a new rope dangled from the bough. Jasper smiled to himself. This was what he missed. This space, it was quiet and clean. No place like this could be found in the city. He thought of Laura, and what had happened. He thought of the letter, of finding her body, of Eliza. He thought of Charlie, and he smiled.

He left the glade when he realised that the sun had been replaced with the moon. There was no evidence that he had ever been there.

 

* * *

 

 

Three years on and Jasper was content. He went to school. He didn't drink or smoke anymore. He was on the high school football team – captain even. He had two friends; Adriano - an Italian whose parents were from Naples, who never shuts up about his mother’s cooking and has hair so curly it’s almost painful. And Eleanor – a short feisty mass of sass and shrieking. She had no inside voice, was a hard core feminist and flirted with every girl she saw. She would probably be the best tackler on the field if they let her compete. Instead, she got detention for wearing the boy’s uniform and raising her voice in class.  
Life was good. Jasper had accepted himself. His heritage, his past and most drastically – his sexuality. When he had told his family and friends, he received nothing but support. Eleanor had smiled deviously and said to him, “Welcome to the club, my queer motherfucker.” He still liked girls, but he preferred boys. He knew he had a type – smart and quick-witted. Laura had been like that. So had Ch-.

Jasper stopped his train of thought right there. Rubbing his eyes, he turned around and went back to bed. There was no use thinking about him. Not when there was another man - another _willing_ man who was actually gay - in his bed. Jasper lay down again, but never fell asleep.


	2. Charlie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! ok, another chapter. I wasn't expecting to get this out so soon, so don't get used to it. I will try to update regularly, though.

Charlie Bucktin threw his pen down on the desk with a decisive thud. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his eyes and groaned. His clock face read 2:17 in the morning. Gathering up his papers, he neatly tapped them into place and slid them into his folder and grinned to himself, despite the fatigue that was biting at the back of his eyes. 7 pages of literary analysis - done. Charlie then cleared his desk, neatly putting his pens back in their rightful places, and gathering up the three mugs that sat empty on the far left of the desk. It was ridiculous really. He was probably spending half of his final year awake because of the amount of coffee he consumed. His father would tell him it was bad for him, but he was no better. They were the Bucktin’s – clever, literarily gifted and tremendous coffee drinkers.

He crept down the stairs, not bothering to be mindful of the noise he was making, for he could hear the tapping of the typewriter in his father’s study. He rinsed the cups in the sink and placed them upside-down on the drying rack. Then he trudged back upstairs to the bathroom. He was so tired he nearly missed the toothbrush when he went to squirt toothpaste on it. Numbly, he brushed his teeth – an automatic motion – while he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked strange in the artificial light – pale and angular. He had a small nose and brown eyes made larger by the thickly rimmed glasses he wore. The usually red waves of his hair were sticking up from when he had run his hands through it – a habit he often found himself doing as he wrote.  He rinse-and-spit'ed and then returned to his bedroom. There he flopped ungracefully on his bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Today was not going to be a good day. His alarm hadn’t gone off, so his father had woken him up. He had jumped out of bed, thrown his uniform on and stumbled down the stairs, actually falling down the last four. In the kitchen, he stuffed his books and an apple in his bag, at the same time grabbing a piece of bread and downing some lukewarm coffee quickly. He sped out of his house and practically flew to school.

He arrived just as the bell was going, bursting into the room out of breath as the last chimes of the bell were fading away. He had made it – only he hadn’t. His History teacher, the ever delightful Mrs Wakner fixed him with a cold look.  
“Mr Bucktin. It seems you are late. Again.” She said, her voice as comforting as a boa constrictor’s might be wrapped around your neck.  
“Go and get a late pass.” Charlie nodded and did as she said, the snickers of the class following him down the hallway.

Like he said; not a good day.

 

Jeffrey met him at recess, where he had just come from Advanced Maths.  
“Oho! What have we here?” he said, dramatically striking a pose of astonishment.  
“It is the sleeping beauty, roused from her slumber. Pray tell, who could it be, the brave prince who woke you from your eternal sleep?”  
“Your mum.” Replied Charlie, flicking his apple core at him. Jeffrey dodged it easily and flopped down next to Charlie.  He then tutted and shook his head.  
“Now, now my friend. You can’t get away from it that easily. See, I _know_ that my mother has no interested you. You are _far_ too…” Jeffrey gestured to all of Charlie, who raised an eyebrow in return..  
“Well, _you_.” Charlie snorted.  
“Ah, and here comes our  _dearest Lizzy_.”  
Jeffrey was right. Eliza was walking over to them. She was wearing a nice lavender summer dress and had tied back her hair. When she sat down, Charlie noticed she smelled like lavender too.

  
“Hey.”  
“Hey.” “Sup.” The two boys chorused back. She sighed and lay down, her head pillowed in Charlie’s lap.  
“Sorry, I got caught up talking to Alice and the girls.”  
“S’alright. Jeffrey and I were just having a deep conversation.” Charlie said.  
“Oh, what about?” she returned.  
“What makes me unattractive. Apparently I’m simply too much for women to handle.”  
Eliza giggled and Jeffrey added “And your queer”.  
“Yeah, but then he could be attractive to _other_ queers.”  
“What other queers?” Jeffrey said, spreading his arms wide. “There’s no one in a fifty kilometre radius of us that would like to stick their peter pecker up his freckled arse. Let’s be honest”  
Eliza let out a bark of laughter at that and Charlie’s ears went bright red.  
“ _Guys!_ Stop it.”  
Just at that moment the bell rung (bless it) and the three of them got up to go to their next classes. Eliza walked away, off to her art class and Jeffrey skipped over to the gym ready to do some sports.

Eliza had grown up to be very beautiful. She wore her blonde hair long, and often pinned it up out of her eyes with pretty things. Jeffrey had grown too. He wasn’t tall, but he no longer resembled a garden gnome. He’d become broad, tightly packed with muscle and had a jawline that could cut glass. Of course, this gave way to even more quips about how good looking and irresistible he was. Charlie got so fed up he once threw his cricket bat into a tree. Jeffrey toned it down after that.

Charlie walked into in maths class and sat down, tuning into the teacher’s monotonous tone.

 

* * *

 

On his way home from school he ran into Warwick Trent. He was built like mountain and had as much brains as one too. As he walked past them, Warwick moved and aggressively bumped his shoulder with Charlie’s.  
“Watch it, faggot.” The great oaf said, and the rest of his gang laughed like it was some great joke.

Ah yes. _Faggot._ His old friend.

Charlie and Eliza were said to have made a lovely couple – perfect for each other. And they were. They were both smart and bookish. They both wished to one day go see New York. But love is not as simple as that.

It happened when Charlie was fourteen. They had been going steady for nearly a year. They were making out on Charlie’s bed. Her hair was out and her blouse was unbuttoned. Charlie’s had was gently cupping her pale breast has their tongues explored each other’s mouths with a practiced ease. Suddenly she sighed and pulled back. When she went to speak, Charlie knew she was serious.  
“Charlie, this isn’t working.” Charlie blinked slowly, then looked away. He knew where this was going.  
“You’re great and I love you but… I don’t think you’re as into this as you think. And I don’t think we should be together… like this.” Her voice had faded away towards the end, but Charlie had heard every word. He awkwardly removed his hands from her chest and she climbed off of his lap.  
“I just… I think we’d be better off as friends. I mean, I love spending time with you, your company’s great. But the other side of things - you know…” her hands pointed to her bare chest, then between them. “It just isn’t working.”

At this he blushed furiously. It was true. As much as he liked her and enjoyed kissing her, there was always something missing. He used to think that something was physically wrong with him. Like, who wasn’t turned on by their sweetheart? But as time went on he discovered that his problem was a little different.

He didn’t know exactly when it started. He always noticed thing about people. He was an observant person. He always noticed the way Eliza would wear her hair, put on her make-up, and the way she would smell – but this was _different._ He started seeing things about men, things he hadn’t really thought to consider before. He started noticing the way the skin would slide over their shoulder blades when they removed their shirts in the changing rooms. He started watching the way their hands would sweep the hair out of their eyes. He started tracing the passage from someone’s collar, down to the hem of their pants. But he truly knew when Allan Byrnes stripped naked in the boy’s locker rooms and proudly swaggered about to the laughs and cheers of him mates. It all happened at once. Charlie took one look at his strong back and round arse and it was like all the air in his body left him. He had fled from the change rooms and soon as he was dressed and without thinking, he found himself in the glade. He groped around in the centre of the hollow tree until his fingers closed around the neck of a bottle. Bringing it to his lips he took a deep gulp, paying no heed to the burning of his throat as the whiskey went down.

 _Could he be?_ Charlie was ignorant of many things but he did know about this. He knew there were people out there that were in love with the same sex – _gay._ Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron – both men had had relationships with men. He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the tree. It was like everything was starting to make sense. Maybe Jeffrey was right, maybe he was queer.

The thought that he was gay plagued his mind constantly during the weeks afterwards. He knew he was acting differently, what with all the worried looks from his friends. One day, his dad approached his to have a ‘Serious Man Talk’. It was a Saturday afternoon and Charlie was reading.  
“Charlie, I think we should talk.” His father had said, his voice in full serious mode. Charlie hesitantly closed _Greta Expectations_ and sat up.  
“… Ok. Sure. Whatever you want”  
“I’ve noticed that you’ve been acting differently lately. I just wanted to ask if everything is alright with you and Eliza. She hasn’t been around as much and… look if you two are in trouble or something, I want you to know that I’m here for you.” He finished with a reassuring smile and a pat on the knee. Charlie’s eyes had gotten wider and wider as his father had continued.  
“Dad, _Dad! No!_ Uh, no. Eliza and I, we broke up. That’s all.” Wesley was visibly relieved, and then became immediately sympathetic.  
“Oh. So, are you alright? What happened?”  
“It… just didn’t work out.”  
“Oh.” His father nodded awkwardly.  
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to say.”  
As if sensing the importance of what was to come, Wesley turned to look his son in the eyes.  
“Yeah? What is it?”  
“Oh, um. I-I’m… I think-.” Charlie gulped audibly. ”Dad, I think I’m gay.” There was a pause. The silence was excruciating.  
Wesley hadn’t turned away from Charlie, so surely that was a good sign? But he didn’t say anything for a while.  
Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke.  
“Ok then. Look, to be honest I don’t know the first thing about all this, but I’ll always be here for you.”  
Then Wesley pulled his son in for a hug.  
“I’m proud of you.” he whispered.

 

Coming out to Jeffrey and Eliza was a very different experience, however. They were standing under a tree waiting for the rain to pass. Charlie and Jeffrey were exchanging their usual quips. Jeffrey was tossing a cricket ball between his fingers.  
“Jeffrey, you’re an idiot. It’s a proven fact. You simply do not have enough brain capacity to form coherent thoughts when it comes to these matters.” Jeffrey shook his head.  
“Queer.” He retorted. Charlie paused at that, and then calmly replied, “True.”  
“Exactly-wait what?”  
“True. I’m queer.” Jeffrey started laughing.  
“Haha! That’s a good one, nice mate.” He wiped a non-existent tear from his cheek.  
“Jeffrey, I’m serious. I. Am. Gay.” At that, Jeffrey went very quiet, and then he whispered, “ _Really?”_  
Charlie nodded. The Jeffrey whistled. “Ok, wow. If you’re sure. Wait, what about Eliza? Does she know?”  
“Do I know what?” the two boys whirled around - Charlie blushing profusely and Jeffrey making little choking noises in surprise.  
“That he’s fucking queer!” Jeffrey said, pointing at Charlie’s ear.  
“Jeffrey!” Charlie hissed at him.  
Eliza stood in front of then silently. Then she smiled.  
‘ _Finally!_ Do you know how long I have been waiting for this! Jesus Charlie, who knew you could be so thick!”  
“You _knew!”_ both boys cried out simultaneously. Eliza smiled and nodded.  
“I was his girlfriend.” She said, like it was the simplest thing in thw world. “He wasn’t really interested in _being_ with me, so I drew two conclusions. One, that he wasn’t into sex, or two, that he wasn't into ssex with _me_.  I saw the way he watched other boys. I’m not oblivious like you two.”  
“So, you’re ok with this? Both of you?”  
Both Eliza and Jeffrey exchanged glances and nodded.  
“Yeah, as long as you don’t tell me about your sassytimes. There are some things a man just shouldn’t know.” Jeffrey added.

 

* * *

 

So that had been that. In the three years since, word had gotten out. Charlie was bullied mercilessly. Apparently, five peach pits didn’t protect you from being the shire faggot. It wasn’t all bad though. He had his friends and family, from both of which he had full support. There were also other people at school who helped, saying that they were there for him.

Another person who knew was Jack Lionel. After Jasper’s disappearance, they had made Sunday dinner a weekly thing. Charlie would go over there – sometimes with his dad but usually alone – and cook Jack dinner. They became close friends. They talked about the local gossip, whatever was happening. Jack didn’t seem to care what his preferences were.

 

This Sunday was much like any other. Charlie trudged down the path and opened the gate, the rust making a horrible screeching noise as it swung wide. When Charlie got to the door, he knocked thrice and waited. Upon hearing nothing he knocked again, a little more forcefully. Again there were no noises to be heard. Starting to panic, Charlie called out Jack Lionel’s name, but still three was no answer. Charlie was scared now. The hairs at the back of his neck were prickling and he started to sweat. Quickly, he grabbed the key that lay under the small pot plant to his left and opened the door.  
“Jack?” his voice was small and dull inside the house. Charlie then saw a pair of boots near the doorway to the dining room, and his heart sink to his stomach. It couldn’t be.

Charlie dropped his bag and ruched over to the boot, finding them both to be attached to the limp form of Jack Lionel.  
“No. no no no.” Charlie was muttering to himself. “C’mon mate, get up.”  
But it was too late. Jack’s skin was pale and cold and his eyes were open and glassy. When Charlie touched him, he saw that his body was stiff, rigour mortis having already taken effect. Charlie breathed in and out through his mouth, trying to calm his nerves. Then he stood up and walked to the phone, numbly dialling the police station’s number.

He didn’t remember the words that were exchanged, but he did remember muttering ‘thank you’ over the line and placing the phone back on its stand. When he went to go sit down, he bumped to small table and a leather bound address book fell off to the ground. He went down to pick it up, glancing at the words written on the page. Then he faltered, for written in Jack Lionel’s spidery writing was a name, a number and an address – a name me thought he would never see again.

_Jasper._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheh. Cliffhangers! Next chapter things are gonna start moving along, so stay tuned.
> 
> Also, I just want to add that I fully support everyone in the LGBTI community, and that all offensive language is simply part of the story.


	3. The Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight guys...i'm BACK!! It has been a wild ride.  
> Now, I am sorry that i haven't continued this in so long, but I don't really have a good excuse. However, I am back - momentarily. I have exams very soon, but i would like to pick this story up again, probably in the summer holidays. 
> 
> Also, I have made some edits to the story, the biggest one being changing Peony's name to Susan - i never really liked her name.  
> I hope you all enjoy this!

Was it illegal to steal things from a crime scene? Probably. Not that the site where Jack Lionel’s body was is a crime scene. The doctor said it was natural causes. Makes sense.

 

Charlie shook himself out of his daze. Putting down the bottle he picked up the worn leather address book and walked to the tree trunk. He moved aside the random cap lying around pulled out an old shoebox.

 

The shoebox was his own special box – his Pandora’s box. He never opens it, except when the night slides into morning and he still hasn’t gotten any sleep. The box doesn’t hold much. The (now empty) packet of smokes and bottle of whiskey that Jasper left behind, a piece of Eliza’s burnt house, Laura’s letter, the front page of dad’s first manuscript and a family photo from when Charlie was young. His teeth are crooked and he’s wearing a yellow button up. He must be about eight. His parents look young and happy. That was the last time they really were, too. They had taken a trip to visit Charlie’s mother’s family in the city. Here, they were standing outside the front of the bland brick house, the bright sunlight washing out his mother’s face and making her look as if she was glowing. He used to say that she looked just like an angel. Ruth would only scoff and muss his hair, but Charlie knew that when she was alone she would look at that picture with such a lonely, sad expression that it broke his heart, although at such a young age he knew not why.

 

Charlie wedged the book in the corner next to the whiskey bottle, closed the lid and shoved the box back into the cool recesses of the trunk. Taking another swill from the bottle beside him, he flopped down onto the soft sand, the sweetness of the glade filling his nostrils. Unwilling, his mind wandered. Angular lines and bronzed skin sliding over taut sinew and muscle, hair like pitch that curled at the nape and ears. He could feel its softness between his fingers. Belatedly Charlie felt his cock throb. His hand dragged down to palm himself when there was a rustle from the bushes, and he rose, startles from his reverie.

 

 _Probably a rabbit or something_ Charlie thought to himself. No one knew of the glade except Eliza and himself, and Eliza hardly came anymore. Too much pain. It was fine though. It allowed Charlie to have his own place away from everyone. He considered showing the glade to Jeffrey but there was something a bit too intrusive about this. This glade was _his._ It was Jasper’s and Charlie’s. It felt wrong to drag someone here without Jasper knowing.

 

All the same, the moment was over. Charlie stumbled up and dusted himself off. Unsteadily he made his way back to his house.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The path was now as familiar as the inside of his own bedroom, and he was surrounded by houses in no time. The crickets were deafening in the late summer evening as he sluggishly climbed the front steps.

 

His father was waiting for him. Charlie had expected this. Ever since he had called the police the previous morning, everybody had been watching him. He was surprised that he had been able to escape to the glade at all, but he supposed his father had allowed him some ‘alone time’.

 

“You drunk?” his father asked, head cocked over his shoulder from his place by the stove.   
“No.” Charlie replied. It wasn’t a complete lie. He had stopped before he became too pissed.   
“Sure…” Wes said, chuckling a little. “I made pasta. Can you set the table?”

 

Charlie arranged the bowls, cutlery and glasses on the table. Two places.  They ate in silence. When Wes had finished eating, he put his bowl in the sink, but instead of going into the living room, he sat back down at the table. Charlie was poking and prodding at his food, his appetite lacking.

 

“How are you?” he asked softly, his brow creased in worry. Charlie shrugged.   
“Not so good, I guess. I mean-I know he was old and it was only a matter of time but…He was my friend.” Charlie was silent for a while after that. Not a word was spoken until his father took a breath.   
“Apparently they’re looking for Jasper Jones” Charlie jerked his head up at that.   
“What! Why?”  
“Don’t know. Jasper _was_ his grandson.”  
“They don’t think he had anything to do with Jack’s death, do they?”  
“No. I don’t think so. All the same, no one has his address or number. They didn’t find one his house.” Charlie swallowed and took a mouthful of spaghetti.   
“Apparently they’ve been over to David Lionel’s but either he was shitfaced, or he didn’t have any address either.” continued His father.   
“I _did_ hear that Jasper had been adopted, though.”  
“Really?” said Charlie.

 

Maybe Jasper was alright. Maybe he was safe and happy after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie didn’t sleep that night either. _Why are the police looking for Jasper? They don’t seriously think that he might’ve done this. Why?_

 _Jack was his_ grandfather. _He may not have loved him, but he certainly cared for him. Jack was he only one to show him real kindness. Why would he kill him?_

_Unless the police thought he had motive; something to gain._

That morning Charlie was up with the sun. He was finishing his second cup of coffee when his father came down. It was Saturday, so there was nowhere he needed to be. When he saw him, Wes Bucktin wearily smiled and thumbed at his cowlick, which was getting harder to now that he had grown taller. In fact, he was taller than his father. Apparently he got the tall genes from his mother’s side.

 

“I’m going out.” He said. His father nodded and told him to be safe.

 

He walked quickly through the streets. He waved to Mr lu who was watering his garden (it had finally flourished again).   
“Jeffrey is still sleeping” said Mr Lu.   
“That’s ok. I’ll come by later then” Charlie lied.

 

The path seemed infinitely longer than the previous night. Charlie followed the windy track until he reached the enclosing bushes. He pushed past them and quickly went to the trunk. Pushing aside the empty bottles and spare clothes, he found the box and retrieved the old address book. Charlie opened it and flicked through the pages; there were people that he had never heard of, people who were most likely dead. Finally he stopped at J. He inspected the name, Jasper. Every curve of every letter. He snapped the book shut and then shoved it in his pocket. Putting the box away again, he got up and returned home.

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie was unsure how long he had been sitting in front of the telephone. After an age, he reached out and slowly, then all at once, dialled the number written beneath Jasper’s name.

 

The phone rang, and kept on ringing, and ringing, and ringing, and _ringing_ until…  
“Hello, this Susan Langridge speaking.”

 

Charlie could barely breathe. Was the number wrong? Surely not.   
“Um hello… does Jasper Jones live here?” Charlie’s voice was shaky, even to his own ears.   
“Yes.” The lady said. Charlie’s stomach clenched. _Holy shit._  
“C-can I speak to him?”  
“No, he’s out. Who is this?”  
“My name is Charlie. Charlie Bucktin. I’m From Corrigan.” Charlie heard a breath hitch over the line.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“And then Mr Brough looked at me with that face, y’know that shit eating grin he has, well it was with that, A-and he just handed it to me. Like, he _knew_ that I’d done shit and he was really enjoying it. Gah, 64%! My mum is gonna kill me. I mean it this ti-stop laughing at me!”

 

Adriano’s ceaseless blabber followed Jasper as they turned the corner. He listened to Eleanor’s gurgly laughter and felt his own smirk tug at his mouth.

 

The day was beautiful, and Jasper secretly revelled in the warm sunlight and the scent of flowers as they passed a front yard garden, full of fat, lazy bees. The front gate swung open with a drawn out whine, and they all ducked inside through the open door.

 

‘Susan, we’re back!” Jasper called out, and his adoptive mother came through the doorway from the kitchen.

 

“Hello!” she said sunnily, and Jasper, Eleanor and Adriano all chorused back respectively.   
“I’ve made some sandwiches.”  
“Brilliant!” said Eleanor, who never turned down a free meal.

 

They had all collected their lunches when Susan turned around and said to Jasper,   
“I got a call from a man in Corrigan.” Jasper went very still. The only people who had his address were his father and his grandfather. His father hadn't spoken to him since his adoption and his grandfather had called him two weeks ago for his (occasional) monthly call.   
“Oh?” he said, as casually as possible. Adriano and Eleanor were watching him. They know a bit about Corrigan; that it was a small town, that he was treated like shit and that he ran away. That was it.   
“Yeah. He wants you to call him back, he left his number.” She picked up a slip of paper that was on the bench that Jasper hadn’t noticed.

 

“Charlie Bucktin.”

 

Jasper blinked once, twice, thrice… “What?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh. what's gonna happen??
> 
> ...Probably nothing anytime soon. However, I hope you enjoy this little addition.   
> I've promised that I would finish this...whatever it takes.


	4. Message Recieved

Jasper was staring dumbly down at the slip of paper in his hand. It was so small and white and comparatively dull and inconsequential to everything else around him, yet is was profound. This call, this slip of paper had the power to change him and his life, and it scared him. Jasper was scared of a 2-inch square piece of paper, it shook him down to his core.

 

Distantly he was aware of the worried silence around him. Looking up, he saw the anxious eyes of Susan and his friends. Adriano was still chewing loudly around his impressive bite, a bit of vegemite smeared onto his cheek, and Eleanor was holding onto what seemed to be nearly half a loaf of bread. His guardian has mid-way though drying one of the dinner plates.

 

“Does that name mean anything to you, Jasper” Susan asked hesitantly, careful to be as unassuming as possible.

 

Slowly shaking himself from his momentary stupor, Jasper nodded and cleared his throat, for suddenly it felt as though it were covered in lint. “Yeah, I knew him in Corrigan. He helped me get out.”

 

Seemingly pleased with the response, Susan nodded and recommenced her chore. His friends however, were not so convinced; two sets of sharp eyes surveying him closely. Clearing his throat for the umpteenth time, jasper snagged the last remaining sandwich, poured himself a glass of water and promptly fled to his room, two confounded teenagers in tow.

 

* * *

  

“what the fuck was that, mate” Adriano hissed when the lock on Jasper’s door clicked shut. “You’re as white you’re bloody sheets!”

Instead of replying, Jasper took a small bite out of his sandwich – it was raspberry jam, nice!

At the lack of response, his friends exchanged a glance.

“Was he one of the ones who, y’know, gave you a hard time?” This time it was Eleanor who spoke, unsurprisingly already finished with her food.

Jasper sharply shook his head. “No! he was a friend of mine. He helped with some stuff before I left.”

Eleanor and Adriano seemed to accept this. “What sort of stuff?” Eleanor asked.

Turning away from their too-focused eyes, Jasper let out a huff. “Look it was just stuff, okay? It’s really complicated and I don’t really want to talk about it!”

“I dunno mate, you seemed pretty tetchy when you saw this blokes name. are you sure?”

“Yes! God, things got really shitty before I left, so just - leave me alone!” Jasper felt bad for suddenly lashing out at his friends, but his nerves were fraying. The last time he had seen Charlie Bucktin was nigh on four years ago. Charlie was gangly and witty, with heavy glasses, unruly hair and a smile that made him seem younger than he was. Of course, he was young, barely a teenager when Jasper left. So what business did he have for suddenly phoning him out of the blue after all this time? The possibilities made Jasper’s stomach clench and his brow tingle with sweat.

 

Furiously running his hands through his hair, he spoke out, not bothering to turn to race the occupants of his room.

“Charlie was… the closest thing I had to a friend. I didn’t speak to him when I left. For all I know, he has no idea where I am.” Frowning then, Jasper continued. “so, it worries me that he has this phone number.”

“Sounds pretty dodgy mate.” Adriano said after a pause, and Eleanor nodded in agreement.

“Is there any way he could’ve been given the number, then?”

“No-maybe. Only my grandfather has my number, my dad hasn’t rung me for months so the bastards probably lost it. I told Grandpa to never give it to anyone. Ever.”

“Hmm.” Eleanor made the sound, evidently concerned. Eventually she sighed and stood up. “I need to go, or mum will garrotte me with her tape measure” Eleanor’s mother was an avid seamstress – there was some talk that she was meant to go to Paris to learn the trade, only she fell pregnant and swiftly got married. “Call me if you need anything, ok?”

After Jasper nodded, she kicked Adriano and they both left, leaving jasper to his own devices.

 

* * *

 

The last time he had seen Charlie, he was fourteen, Charlie even younger. They were _kids._ Now, jasper was eighteen and legally an adult. He was finishing school (hah) and wore proper clothes, lived in a proper house with proper people. He even had to shave regularly now. The last four years had been monumental. Jasper had grown into himself in a way he never imagined. He was looking at a sporting scholarship for universities; his future was no longer closed off to him, but wide open. Growing into himself, his body, even his sexuality Jasper had done, all on his own.

 

Charlie had been small and birdlike, on the cusp of a pubescent growth spurt when he saw him last. His hair had been a riotous red mass, his glasses for too large and heavy for his face, and his voice and been a playground of jumps and creaks (though Jasper had hardly been any better). Jasper briefly contemplated the changes Charlie would had gone through the last four years too. He was probably smart – he was already so clever when he was thirteen, everything about him sharp and witty. So, say, top of his class, and a nice sweetheart of Eliza. Yes. That suited Charlie very well.  
So _why_ had he called Jasper?

 

The hues of the skyline were beginning to slur into oranges and pinks by the time Jasper had made up his mind. Swinging his string legs off the bed, he opened the door and strode into the kitchen, and over to the phone.

 

He promptly picked up the phone and punched in the number. At the brrring brrrring he almost put down the phone but he was a _man_ for fucks sake, and he should be one and grow a pair of balls. So, he waited only a few seconds (although it definitely seemed much longer than that).

“Hello, this is Wes Bucktin, how can I help?”

Jasper’s mouth was very very dry all of a sudden.

“Uh, Is Charlie Bucktin there?”  
“Yes, who’s asking?”

Jasper felt blood roaring in his ears. Why was this so _hard?_  
“Never mind, Sorry.” Jasper barely managed to blurt this out before slamming the phone down. _Fuck!_

 

* * *

 

Charlie was tiredly thumbing his way through _Pygmalion_ when he heard the phone ring out. he jumped out of bed and ran down to where it was, when his dad answered it.

“Hello, this is Wes Bucktin, how can I help?”

There was murmuring on the other side, and Wes’ eyes slid over to Charlie.

“Yes, who’s asking?”

Suddenly, Wes blinked and turned back to his son.

“He hung up.”

“Who was it? What did he sound like?” Charlie asked, nearly frantic.

“Not sure. Sounded a bit young though. Have you finished your homework?”

Charlie didn’t answer. It was Jasper, it must have been.

Abruptly Charlie was pulled from his increasingly agitated mind.

 

The phone was ringing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I shit this out as a means of procrastination despite of, or rather in spite of the looming mountain of shit-i-need-to-do. Please accept this for now.  
> I actually had a plan for this story, but my laptop died, and with it all my work on this so I'm making this up as i go. I literally have no idea what's gonna happen.


End file.
